


There's a Common Thread (that keeps me hanging tight)

by hybridshade (shimyaku)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Established Relationship, Healing, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Pain, Recovery, Soul Bond, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimyaku/pseuds/hybridshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky grew up in a world of backstreets rife with magic and enchantment, and when the time was right they formed a Soul Bond, a permanent connection from one heart to another. But then the war happened, pulling at their seams until it eventually ripped them apart in the worst way possible. Unfortunately when one's Soul-Bonded dies, they are left with a long, drawn-out death of their own to look forward to.</p><p>When Steve is subsequently woken in a more science-driven future, he keeps a tight lid on his grief and the slow decaying of his body. That is, until he is faced with a new and unforeseen foe - one who wears the face of his dead Bonded, and whose touch brings him to his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a Common Thread (that keeps me hanging tight)

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** written for the [Marvel Bang]() on LJ, with art from the lovely [CTBN60](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com/), which you can find [here on LJ](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com/384599.html) or [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577803?view_adult=true). And thanks to the Deftones for the title, heh.

** Part 1 **

 

Bucky couldn't take it anymore. 

Too many days Steve had lain there in the bed, pale and still, practically drowning amongst the mussed up sheets and threadbare blankets. His skin was so pallid he almost blended in amongst the bedding, and it was like a near-fatal spike through Bucky's heart every time. Except that _this_ time he'd finally found his limit. And he had to take action.

Steve had been through a lot, it was true, and he'd somehow managed to live on despite the odds. So many times they'd weathered the storm of Steve's illness with little more than a weak charm or two, whatever few sips of restorative potion they could afford, and a whole lot of luck. But sometimes it was a fine line. Steve may have been the strongest guy he knew, but when the strength of his body couldn't match the strength of his will, it narrowed both their options and outcomes considerably. 

What happened when the day came that Bucky couldn't be there? His shoulders bore the weight of the letter he'd received, one he'd purposely kept hidden from Steve. It damned him to an unknown, uncontrollable fate, made all the worse for keeping himself and Steve apart. But perhaps there was a solution – a way to at least circumvent the 'unknown' side of things, and to put his heart at ease.

They lived in a seedy part of town, the backstreets of which were rife with wielders of magic of all shades, and shady peddlers trading everything from fortune-altering cookies to powerful hex bags. Anything went in these parts. It was both a bane and a blessing. And in this case it proved a blessing, because the sort of thing Bucky was after? No legitimate practitioner of magic would ever have granted such a request. Certainly not for the type of payment he had to offer. He might have been wearing some of his slightly better-conditioned clothes, but any witch worth their salt would see right through him and his swift, sticky fingers.

Bucky had always been one to do what was necessary, rather than what was 'right'. Especially where Steve was concerned.

He found himself staring at the enchantress' stoop, willing himself to take that last step and knock on her door. He didn't get a chance, though, because she opened it for him, grinning a broad, gap-toothed grin and bidding him to come inside. Bucky had a reasonable handle on reading peoples auras – he didn't have the knack for it the way that Steve did, but he was good enough that he could feel the mystery surrounding the old woman. There was an ambiguity to her character that said she was neither good nor bad, but would happily lean either way so long as you had something to offer.

"What do y' want, young'n?"

He eyes had a sheen like oil, and her voice creaked like a rusty gate.

"I need to forge a soul Bond."

"Oh, silly lad!" she cackled, "How old are y' now? Too young t' be messin' with such things."

He felt like a scolded child. "I'm twenty five and I know what—"

"Know what y' doing, do ya? Course y' do. Just like all young men. Prime of life, strong, hungry, caught up in the scent of a pretty young thing."

The woman cackled again and started to shuffle off towards another room. She waved him off with a short gesture, bidding him goodnight.

"Please, ma'am. You can't leave me like this. I have payment."

Bucky was not above begging.

"What? Got somethin' good t' trade have yer?"

He held up the bottle he'd been keeping in his pocket. For a moment she looked entranced, until she suddenly jerked away.

"I know what that stuff costs, boy. I don' want yer ill-gotten goods."

She was shuffling away again when he grabbed her arm. He wasn't usually the type to grab a woman that way, but these were desperate times and he was a desperate man.

"Please, ma'am. My… my pretty young thing. He's… he's real sick. He's _always_ sick. One of these days he ain't going to get better and what if I'm not around? What if I can't do anything and he slips away from me? I tell you, I'll be as dead inside as he is."

She grabbed his face without warning, pulling him close and down to her level. Her thumb pressed into his cheek, sharp nail digging into the skin, and she tugged down so the inner flesh of his eyelid was exposed. And she stared. She stared for a whole minute or more, until the surface of his eyeball started to dry and sting.

"Hmm, so maybe y' are telling me the truth."

"I _am_. He's nearly died so many times I've lost count and I can't bear it any more. I need to lend him my strength. And I need to know that he's there, no matter how far away I am."

The woman looked at him strangely then clucked her tongue.

"Been drafted, haven't ya boy? Had a few of you lads coming through lately… You're the first that’s not been scared t' bits."

"I'm plenty scared. Just not about me."

With a huff she pushed him down in a chair and told him to wait – she had just the thing for ailing lovers, it'd just take a few minutes to cook up. And all it would cost him was one single bottle of illegitimately-acquired mermaid's hair.

 

~

 

They only had two chairs in their tiny little apartment, and Bucky was sitting in one of them. He had it facing towards the bed and he could just see the lump under the covers where Steve lay, partially obscured by a folding screen that'd been mended with butcher's paper. It would look an absolute mess were it not for Steve's artistic skills. He'd painted the whole thing off-white and had created a seaside-themed mural with pens and pencils and the last of his drawing ink. Bucky thought it was practically a modern day masterpiece, but Steve had always denied his own skill. It was kind of a pity because Bucky believed he could do something great with his drawing ability if he really wanted to. Maybe even make some money out of it.

He was always trying to think of jobs for Steve that didn't involve him being out in the cold – Steve generally appreciated the input, but he could always see right through Bucky's intentions. Someone had to be realistic about the situation, though, and that certainly wasn't Steve. Always insisting he was fine and ever the optimist, but he wasn't a child anymore and didn't bounce back as quickly as he once had. Even the tiniest case of the sniffles would eventually land him in bed long enough that he'd be out of whatever job he'd finally managed to pick up, and the cycle would repeat itself. The depths of February were always the worst, always bringing about a day where Bucky worried that Steve wouldn't wake up again. He simply couldn't bear the worry any longer. It had been near-constant of late, and had he not known better Bucky might have thought someone had hexed Steve, such was his condition.

The blankets finally stirred, messy blonde peeking out above the sheets.

Bucky got to his feet and crossed the room, a certain paper packet weighing heavy in his pants' pocket. He sat himself on the edge of the mattress and weary baby-blues peered up at him.

"Buck?"

"Hey, Stevie. Feelin' better?"

Steve nodded, reaching over to the bedside table to grab his glass of water and take a sip. "Think so. Not feeling so foggy in the head, which is nice."

Plucking the water from Steve's hands and moving it aside, Bucky leaned down and guided their lips together. Steve hummed with approval and wrapped his arms around Bucky's neck, dragging him more fully onto the mattress. Bucky was warmed by Steve's enthusiasm, but did his best to keep things superficial, eventually pulling away.

"Don't get ahead of me, now."

Steve's subsequent grin was brief, quickly falling solemn and tight-lipped.

"Buck, is there a reason you're home early?"

He laughed it off. "What, I can't hurry back to check on my best guy?"

Steve's answering gaze was a heavy one. He could practically feel the prickle of it over his body as Steve 'read' him.

"So." Steve pushed back the blankets and sat up straight, pyjama shirt draping loosely over his thin limbs. "Did you get a letter, or did you actually go and sign up without me?"

It never ceased to amaze him how astute Steve was. Bucky's aura would have revealed his secrecy and foreboding, but Steve would have had to put the rest together himself.

Bucky sighed.

"Got a letter. I’ll show you if you don't believe me."

"I believe you. How long?"

"Couple of days."

"Dammit. I know you've only been hiding this for a few days already, but I thought there'd be more time."

"'m sorry."

"Not your fault."

Steve allowed Bucky to gather him into his arms, tucking his head beneath his chin and threading fingers through golden strands. 

"What else are you hiding, Buck?" Steve's bony fingers caught in the fabric of his shirt, nails digging in just beneath Bucky's clavicle. "I can feel it. You… your heart worries."

He nearly wanted to laugh. When was his heart _not_ worried? For all the love and care and friendship, Steve was an infinite source of worry to Bucky. He could only hope he wouldn't be welcomed with rejection when he produced the items from his pocket – he wasn't sure how he would cope if Steve said no.

"I have a proposition for you. And I beg you to not deny me this."

"What? Why would I deny you any—oh my God."

Steve was wide-eyed as he stared at the two thin metal rings in Bucky's palm, his hand reaching out but stopping just short of touching them.

"Be my Soul-Bonded, Steve. I'll be half-way 'round the world before long. Letters will take weeks. But this… just knowing you're there would mean everything."

Picking up one of the rings, Steve turned it as he carefully studied the runes etched on the inside of the copper-toned band.

"There's a lot of strength in these. I can feel the power against my skin… But I'm no expert. How do we know these'll even do what they're supposed to? I've heard horror stories about Bondings gone wrong."

"I asked around, okay? This old hag had the best rep going. She actually said no at first, but once I told her the truth… it felt like she really wanted to help me, you know?"

Bucky could see the tension in Steve's jaw as he clenched his teeth. They'd talked about Bonds in the past, and Bucky knew that while Steve had always wondered what it would be like to know someone so deeply, he'd always rejected the notion of letting someone Bond themselves to him for life. Sometimes Steve's own self-worth made Bucky ache all the way down to his toes. He'd always done his best to show Steve just how much he was worth to Bucky, but it never seemed to stick for long enough. If he could just get Steve to say yes to this one thing, perhaps all their problems could be remedied in one fell swoop.

"You know," Steve looked to him earnestly, "there'd be nothing wrong with a simpler Bond. I know there are rune combinations that wouldn't tie us together so strongly. You could know I was okay and vice versa without binding our souls. That way it could be unravelled someday, and the Bond would be less likely to hurt you."

"You say that as if it might not hurt you either. But seriously, Steve, I wouldn't be bringing this up if I wasn't for certain. And I know if you feel anything like I do that you wouldn't want this Bond to ever be unravelled."

For a long while Steve was silent.

"…And what if you die over there?"

"And what if you catch your death back here?" Bucky countered. 

"So we're doomed either way."

"Stevie, I'm about to be sent off to war, you're constantly ill with an incessant need to get into fights with people twice your size, and we're two men in love amongst a society that – at large – all but condemns us. I'd say we were pretty well doomed from the beginning."

Biting his bottom lip between his teeth, Steve pondered over the two rings a long time. Then finally he moved, slipping the band in his possession onto his left middle finger. They'd talked about that part before, too – a man wearing a plain ring on his middle or pinky finger was no big deal; a man with a ring on his actual ring finger had the potential to draw unwanted attention, even if it was attention for the right sort of reasons.

"Love you, Buck."

"Love you, Steve."

"If you end up sickly because of me I'll hate you forever."

"Sure thing, Steve."

Bucky slipped his own ring around his middle finger and felt the enchanted metal tighten around the digit. They actually only had to wear the rings as long as it took to complete the Bond, but he doubted either of them would be taking it off voluntarily. With a broad smile he settled back on the mattress, kicking the sheets back so he could pull Steve on top of him, working his eager hands underneath the flannel of Steve's pyjamas. 

Steve's breath hitched and he rocked his hips against Bucky's, one knee falling into the gap between Bucky's thighs. Bucky brought their lips together, tongue sliding into Steve's mouth, and he curled his hands down around the two perfect handfuls of Steve's ass, pressing their bodies firmly together. Steve keened and pulled back with a gasp.

"This part of the ritual?"

"Honestly, Steve, I'll never understand your hatred of foreplay," Bucky said with a grin, reaching over to the bedside table. He fished around for the scissors from the sewing kit Steve had used the week before to fix a couple of shirt buttons. Grasping them, he flicked the blades open and drew a cut across Steve's hand before he could protest, then doing the same to himself. He pressed their palms together and intertwined their fingers.

"Blood magic, huh?"

"It's the strongest there is. Now repeat after me."

They recited the appropriate incantation, Steve repeating after Bucky, and instantly Bucky could feel the change coming over them. He felt intense warmth emanating from the inside out, an awareness of Steve budding and blossoming within his chest. He pulled Steve back to his mouth, not fighting the sudden overwhelming desire to be so close to his love he might never want to let go again. Steve's breathing stuttered, though not in a worrisome way, and his body writhed atop of Bucky's, both their hardened cocks rubbing together from beneath their clothes.

One moment things were speeding ahead, the next they slowed right back down, almost to the point of slow motion. Bucky closed his eyes and focussed until he finally felt it – the flow of energy. Where his right hand and Steve's left met, where their rings and bloodied hands were pressed together, he could feel the energy rushing back and forth between their bodies. He willed some of his own strength into Steve's body, feeling his chest twinge in return, but then it faded again as the energy flow began to settle. Steve gasped from above and Bucky stared into blue eyes as he came to realise just what it was that had suddenly changed. 

The urgent chanting of _yes_ and _please_ and _Bucky_ that echoed through his mind – it was coming from Steve.

 

~

 

Steve looked toward the recruitment centre and wondered what chance he had of getting in there, evaluated, and getting back out again before Bucky realised what he was up to. 

But it was wishful thinking. He knew this. Bucky might have had his arm draped loosely around the neck of the prettiest dame in the whole damn place – Steve insisted since he wanted them to keep up proper appearances so people didn't try sniffing out their personal business, and it wasn't like the Bond was a visible, tangible thing after all – but since the previous night the Bond had quickly settled into this finely tuned link between them. Already Bucky seemed to be able to sniff out Steve's troublemaking ideas before he even got to put them into action. Still, Bucky was at least moderately distracted at that moment, and Steve edged his way out of the main body of the Stark Expo crowd and toward the small demountable structure signed 'Recruitment'.

He hung outside for a moment, thinking. In less than forty eight hours Bucky would be gone, and what made him more angry than words was the idea of Bucky going where he couldn't follow. Because unlike Bucky, Steve wanted to go. He'd been wanting to go for weeks now; months even. Even as sick as he'd been, stuck in bed and barely conscious enough to move, he still wanted to be over there on the front, fighting the good fight, because it was the right thing to do. And there was always the chance that the strength he'd gained from the Bonding ritual would be enough to push him over the line…

He kicked off the wall he'd been leaning against and made toward the building. 

Only to find the way blocked.

"Where do you think you're going, huh?"

Steve looked up into Bucky's unamused face.

"You know where."

"I don't get why you're so hell bent on this. Why can't you just let me go? I'll be back before you know it, and then we can get on with our lives."

"That's hardly the point, though, is it? I want to be able to fight for my country. I have a right to, and a duty to, just like everyone else."

"Yeah, but rights and duties don't equal necessity. You don't need to—"

"Nothing you say is going to convince me to stop trying."

Bucky threw his hands up in surrender and turned away, heading towards the exit gate of the expo, while Steve turned back to the recruitment centre and walked inside. He felt Bucky's smug satisfaction roll through him as his own disappointment bloomed, stuffing his F-graded paper in his pocket so he didn't have to look at it. He took the long way home as he tried not to dwell on what the morrow would bring.

 

~

 

With Bucky half way around the world Steve had gotten used to the Bond being something akin to a dull throb in the centre of his chest.

The distance stretched the Bond so thin Steve had worried at first that it might snap altogether. But thankfully they were stronger than that, and Steve had to agree that Bucky springing a Soul Bond upon him _had_ actually been a good idea. More so than he could've imagined. Just knowing that Bucky was there, along with the occasional flashes of joy or distress or longing – it was the best possible outcome of an otherwise undesirable scenario.

Of course, it didn't stop him from going to the recruitment centres still. He began forging his papers, with no further success, until Dr Erskine had come along and changed everything.

He'd had to send a whole lot of calm and happiness down the Bond connection after the intense pain of the vita-rays, and Bucky had continued to pulse with worry for several days after, but it was worth it. The serum had not only broadened and strengthened every part of Steve's body, but it also amplified the Bond. 

Though he claimed to be unable to read auras, Erskine had somehow figured Steve out within a span of minutes, and had warned him that the Bond might change along with his physique. Where before it had been like a vague awareness tugging somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, now was like a constant thrumming through his veins and all over his body. Even more than all his newfound muscles, the Bond made him feel invincible. The presence of Bucky sat like a small spark hovering and floating about his chest, a thin but resilient thread that connected them from one side of the ocean to the other. Ever present and rock solid.

And it was because of that thread that he knew immediately when something wasn't right. 

It woke him in the middle of the night and had him on his hands and knees, on the verge of bringing his dinner straight back up his throat. And yet, he kept it to himself at first. They were somewhere in Italy, working their way around the camps, (unsuccessfully) performing for the troops, and while Steve had made nice with some of the USO girls on the tour, they weren't so close that he'd told any of them about Bucky or the Bond. He didn't know much of what the 107th was up to, hadn't received a letter from Bucky in quite some time, and he had no way of knowing if he was close to his unit, whether they shared stories of home or whether the fact that he was Soul Bonded (to another man, no less) might have been one of those stories. 

Steve, though, he still had his copper ring on. The majority of the time he wore gloves – all part of the costume – and even when he didn't at no point had anyone enquired about the ring. He wasn't really sure what he'd say even if someone did ask. The army was a long way from the mystical backstreets of Brooklyn, and while magic and the miraculous were utilised to some degree in the medical wing, and certainly in the pubs and taverns the men frequented, they had no place on the battlefield. Not knowing what sort of reception he would receive if he brought up the matter of a Bond and thus the possibility that something might be wrong with Bucky or his unit, Steve cautiously decided to keep his private life just that. 

As such, it was another day and a half before there was any word from the warfront. Colonel Phillips announced that an attack had resulted in moderate casualties from their side, as well as a handful of men taken prisoner. It took some significant arm twisting to get any information out from Phillips, but he made a point of asking whether Sergeant James Barnes was among the casualties, even though he knew quite well that he wasn't. As for Bucky, there was simply no word at all apart from that he was amongst the captured. 

Peggy had watched the whole charade with interest, and Steve froze when he turned to find that sharp-as-a-tack mind centred upon him. She thankfully waited until they were alone before she sprung it on him.

"You're Bonded to him."

She didn't even bother phrasing it as a question. 

"How did you figure it out?"

"My grandmother was a mystic and a maker of amulets and love charms. She taught me a few tricks when I was younger. There's also the fact that your heart was practically caught in your throat the entire time. If I hadn't already figured that the Colonel had not a lick of Sight in him – nor common sense for that matter – well, that whole scene back there would have clinched it for me."

Steve gaped. "And what might you be going to do with this information?"

"I'm going to hex you, quite badly in fact, if you don't go after him."

 

~

 

At some point during their secret and very very not-sanctioned mission, Steve began to sense a change. Something about that constant spark that was _Bucky_ began to pull at him, at his heart. He clutched at his chest, gloved fingertips digging into the thick leather of his jacket and through into the skin below. He'd heard of people dropping dead of heart attacks before, and he wondered if this was what it felt like. The pressure and the pain.

He caught Peggy looking at him from the other side of the plane. He hated when people looked at him pityingly – he'd had enough of that in his 'former life'. But even so, Peggy was still the most beautiful and the strongest woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Oh, and smart to boot. He supposed that gave her a pass of some kind.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Sorry, but you can't blame me. The last thing we need is you kicking it before you even get out of the plane. Just hurry up already, and go get your man."

The plane started to shake, and Howard had to pull off some fancy flying to keep them in the air. The pain in his chest had begun to creep its way outward, messing with his head, but that still didn't mean Steve needed to be dropped at the front door. He grabbed his pack, opened the hatch, and took a leap of faith.

 

~

 

Prying Bucky from that table and pulling him into his arms again was like an electric shock to Steve's entire body. It felt so overwhelmingly right just to hold him there, just touching, even though he could sense Bucky was barely conscious and flooded with pain.

"Steve?" 

The words were barely audible, more a whisper than anything, but Steve almost felt as if he could hear them just as well through the Bond as through his own ears. 

"Yeah, Buck, it's me."

"You feel… different. In here." Bucky's hand wavered before managing to clutch at his chest. At his heart.

Steve nodded. "Well, I am different. Since you last saw me."

The admission seemed to startle Bucky awake a little more, and his eyes finally lost some of their glazed look, focussing directly on Steve's face. Once they took in his appearance, Bucky's whole face went slack with shock.

"Jesus, Steve. What the hell happened?"

"I joined the army."

It took longer than expected to get Bucky to his feet, but soon they were headed toward the exit, Steve's arm hooked around Bucky's shoulders, taking the brunt of his weight. Bucky, despite his delirium, seemed intent on quizzing Steve about his changed exterior, but Steve had to admit that something felt different about Bucky, too. He had no idea what sort of horrid tortures had been carried out upon him, but all Bucky had known, all Steve had felt through the bond, was debilitating pain. He wished he could ask more, but Bucky needed medical attention urgently, so now was not the time.

Somehow they got out – through Schmidt and Zola and a wall of fire, they got out. Steve navigated all the freed men back to the American camp, and the celebrations were long and loud. But Steve wasn't much for crowds even now, and he managed to drag Bucky away before too long, pulling them both into his tent and pushing Bucky down on the rolled-out mattress.

"So medical cleared you?"

"Yeah. Just gotta rest for a month. Maybe two."

"Good. Take your clothes off."

Steve felt the sudden turn of excitement in Bucky's stomach. And Bucky smirked.

"Oh yeah? You want me on my knees too, _Captain_?"

He tried and failed to hold back the shudder that wracked him because of the conjured image of Bucky naked on his knees, but Steve could have smacked himself. Just because Bucky had been administered a healing potion or two and was okay by medical's standards, didn't mean he was fully healed. 

"I want you any way I can have you," Steve said instead.

Grinning again, Bucky moved to start pulling off his clothes boots-first, throwing them off to the side.

"You can stop your worrying, Steve. I'm fine, see? Now are you getting your kit off too, of are you just gonna stand there and watch?"

Fat chance that Steve would ever stop worrying. Just as Bucky would never stop worrying about him. He had a good two decade's worth of experience when it came to being worried about by one James Barnes, so he figured turnabout was fair play. Then again, watching Bucky get a little more naked with each passing moment had the worry being tamped down pretty strongly with arousal.

"Christ, Steve," Bucky gasped, "Get down here already."

He hurried to kick off his clothes, all the while wondering if his own enhanced awareness of the Bond had increased Bucky's awareness in turn. Or perhaps their feelings were enhanced regardless, because it had been so long since they'd last been together. Once his clothing was sitting in a pile on the floor, Steve folded down onto the mattress and crawled into Bucky's side. The first touch of skin on skin had them both shaking with need, and it took several long, deep breaths for Steve to get his head back to rights. Everything was suddenly amplified, from the Bond itself, to the physical feeling of having Bucky's body pressed against him.

There was comfort. And warmth. And desire.

But also fear and apprehension.

Confusion.

"Bucky?" Steve swallowed and glanced down at himself, then back up to meet Bucky's eyes. "Do you… are you still attracted to me? Like this?"

A flare of desperation so bright it screamed 'yes!' 

"It's permanent, right?"

"So far?"

"Well, I'm going to miss my little Steve, I won't lie… But the Bond still recognises that you are you, so in essence it doesn't matter."

"But—"

The swell of arousal.

"Seriously, Steve, you're like a fucking Greek god. I'd have to be dead and buried not to be attracted to you. There's just more of you to love now."

Steve's cheeks burned. 

"Y'know, I heal really quick now. Do you think the Bond means you'll heal more quickly as well?"

"No idea. But now I'm wondering what else about you might be really quick at doing."

" _Bucky_."

The sweet prickle of warmth.

"Still so innocent, Stevie," Bucky teased, pulling Steve closer and clasping his right hand around Steve's left, their rings clinking together. "Been dreaming 'bout this. Being in bed with you again."

Steve watched their fingers twine together in the low light. "Dreamed about you, too. Been keeping you a secret, though… Did you tell your unit about me?"

"Nope. Never came up. The guys I was in the cage with, though, I told them I had a guy back home that I missed, but nothing else. Called me a sap… But you didn't tell anyone, either?"

"Peggy knows. And Howard Stark. But I didn't tell Peggy, she figured it out, and then she had to tell Howard to convince him to fly the plane over."

"Seems like one hell of a dame."

"Got nothin' on you, though, Buck."

A surge of want courses through them and suddenly Bucky was all over him, arms and hands and lips, pushing him against the mattress and practically sucking the air from his lungs. Steve had no idea how he ever managed being apart from his love for this long.

 

~

 

That moment, when he fell…

Steve's world fell away with him. 

The Commandos had to physically hold Steve down to stop him throwing himself from the train as it was. He barely took notice of the fighting that continued around him, and once they'd cleared out the carriage and the Commandos had gathered around… he didn't really notice that much either. At least, not until Morita drew near. Morita had Sight. Actually, for a soldier he had a lot of gifts. A number of rare abilities that really had little use in the army, but he was an adaptable guy and he had his ways, often coming up with things on the fly.

That included kneeling down at Steve's feet, taking his face in his hands, and pulling Steve from his slumped over posture. Morita gasped once he finally got a proper look into Steve's eyes.

"How… How did I not see this?" Morita whispered under his breath.

"We didn't want you to," Steve said back in a mumble, the words coming unbidden, like a ribbon being pulled from his throat. "It was ours. No one else's."

"What you two talkin' 'bout?" Dugan hovered at the side, looking between Steve and Morita with growing interest.

Morita turned.

"That Cap and Bucky are – were – Soul Bonded."

Silence reigned but for the rickety back-and-forthing of the train and the howl of the high winds swirling outside.

"Wow," Jones muttered, "I mean, I knew you two were close, but wow."

"Wait," Dernier interrupted, "Duz zat not mean… Cap vill die?"

Steve curled in on himself, curled around the pain that swelled in his gut, growing larger every moment, large enough to swallow him whole. And he curled around it protectively. It was his pain, his own, Bucky's own, it was all he had left, now, wasn't it?

"Cap, we got a job to do, still. You gonna be up for this?"

"Yeah," he forced out, though everything hurt. They were going to have to drag him bodily from the train at that stage because he didn't think he had the ability to move on his own terms. But he would force himself to do this one last thing. "I'll do this for him."

 

~

 

Of course Peggy knew. She knew the moment she saw him. The way her eyes bulged, her expression dropping… It was if the whole event happened before her very eyes. And for all Steve knew, maybe it did.

"Oh, Steve…"

She took him into her arms. She held him in a way he wouldn't have put up with from anyone else. And she pulled a charm from her pocket, pressing it against his skin and murmuring something unintelligible against his shoulder.

Steve felt the tingle of working magic and felt some of the overwhelming weight lift from his body as a strange sort of numbness took over. 

"It's usually something you use on the wounded – the physically wounded I mean – but it seems to work a bit on you as well. It won't last forever, mind."

"It doesn’t need to," Steve sighed, a little bit lighter, "Just needs to help me end this. After that it won't matter."

She looked up at him with that pity in her eyes again. He couldn’t help but laugh.

"It's funny. Everything I've been through. All these muscles and strength and healing ability… Ain't worth squat when it's your soul that’s bleeding."

 

~

 

Putting the plane in the arctic water was a relief. Pure and utter relief. 

It had been literal hours since Bucky had fallen away, yet it felt so much longer. Like days or weeks. Time dragging on more and more slowly as the pain got worse. Filling him up.

It wasn't enough to kill him. Not by a long shot. He'd heard enough about broken Bonds to know – sometimes it took months, sometimes whole years for a person to shrivel up enough on the inside that their physical being simply gave out. And with his own abilities – his serum-given ones – they had to affect his soul in some way, and he could sense that his life's end was a long time off. Years. Whole years. His new body finally showing its dark side as it attempted to draw his death out for much longer than the norm – he could feel it in his bones. This new prison keeping him away from being with Bucky on the other side.

So, yes. It was true relief to realise he was going to put the plane down in the icy ocean water and put himself down along with it.

Peggy, for a moment, tried to convince him otherwise, and her voice was soft and soothing from the other end of the radio. But it wasn't enough. He regretted that in some way… but it wasn't enough.

 

~

** Part Two. **

 

In hindsight it was somewhat amusing that the memory of that baseball game was the first thing he remembered from the past. He remembered that game. Remembered sitting somewhere with someone, listening to it. And they didn't replay stuff like that – why would they bother when there was always a new game to be broadcast?

That was what got Steve out of that bed and onto his feet. He looked down and found his shirt and pants to be somewhat familiar. They looked like fatigues – was he in the army?

Yes, that rang another bell. And when the woman came in, dressed like she was, something about that struck him as well. But when he pointed out that game, saw her eyes change, he knew something was really not right. He broke through the corridors and out onto the street. Only to be overwhelmed by the sights and sounds that greeted him. 

He knew where he was – it only took him a moment, and somehow the smell of it was still roughly the same – but the smell was not quite enough to reconcile the strange noises and all the bright lights that were assaulting him with a place, a city, he once called home.

Wherever he was it wasn't home anymore.

When a circle of shiny black cars brought him to a standstill, and a large eye patch-wearing man in a floor-length trench coat came up to him, he didn't know what to make of it all. The man called him 'Cap' and that twigged something in the back of his mind. There were lots of people who had called him Cap once, because he was Captain America. Back during the war. But this place, wherever he was, did not look like a war-enduring place. Was he still Captain America? Maybe now he was really just 'Steve' instead.

The man finally spoke to him. Told him his name was Nick Fury. Told him a lot of things in very few words. 

So he was in the future? One part of him was screaming at what such an impossibility it was, yet another part of him thought it made absolute sense. 

He glanced around. There were people looking at him from every direction. Their auras screamed curiosity. And intent. 

But the atmosphere itself – it didn't have the resonance of magic he was used to. He'd always had a knack for picking up that sort of thing. He didn't have the level of Sight that some of his… wait, that _Peggy_ or _Morita_ had had, but he could sense enough to know that things were very different now. He had to wonder if they used magic at all.

Steve allowed the men behind Fury to escort him to a car and drive him to a very tall, very strange building. He was taken to what looked about as much like a medical wing as he could figure, and put in an otherwise empty sterile-looking room. A woman came in, introduced herself as a doctor, and took blood from his arm. They were going to test it. Did they know what they would find?

Erskine had been a man of science. He had told Steve that science would be the way of the future, and seemingly he had been right. The serum had been a creation all of his own and all completely borne of science, not one iota of magic required – or so he said. But did that mean that the future was full of people who had been altered with serums borne of science? The men outside who had escorted him to the car had been broad and well built, but not to the extent that he himself was. And surely soldiers would be the types of people that would need the serum – or whatever the modern equivalent was?

Steve was confused. As he had every right to be.

He found that his memory was still fuzzy at best. Things were coming back to him in increments. He remembered his name and birth date. He remembered Brooklyn and Times Square. He remembered the army, and he remembered being small and sickly and weak until he'd met Dr Erskine. He remembered being Captain America, and the horrible knitted suit they had put him in, and the tragic singing and dancing act that he had been a part of. 

But that had all changed when…

_Bucky._

The pain hit like a cannonball to the chest.

Christ, how could he have forgotten Bucky's name? 

Just thinking the words made something inside him ache terribly. An ache that was more than a bruise or broken bone. It went deeper than that, deeper than blood and the very fibre of his being. It was an ache that made him feel as though he were staring death in the very face.

There was something he was missing.

He was on the ground and retching before he even realised it.

 

~

 

They kept him in that room as long as they could justify, before taking him to some sort of plain looking bedroom with a bathroom attached. They said it was for his own safety. They had to make sure everything was in order with his blood tests before they could take any further steps.

Steve had no idea what those further steps might have inferred.

He was out of place. Out of time. What right did he have to be here, and what right did they have to keep him there, like they owned him.

Once upon a time he had considered himself to be owned by the army. But as it so happened, that time was a long, long time ago.

 

~

 

They eventually signed off on his health and wellbeing, and put him up in some sort of apartment. It was basic, but adequate. More than adequate, really, if he were to compare it to the apartment he had once shared with Bucky. He remembered the sagging mattress, and the rough-edged writing desk, and the fact that they had only had two chairs. And that they had often used empty jam jars as water glasses. 

The memories made his heart hurt in such an all-encompassing way. Threatening to drag him under. Overwhelm him.

He pushed himself away from where he was standing in the kitchen and went into the bedroom, settling himself under the too fresh, too clean covers. It was almost too soft to bear. 

Fury had told him his blood testing had looked all in order – not that he'd expected anything less – and that they would have to talk about what was expected of him. They wanted Steve to fight, to lead a special kind of task force, but apparently they were in no rush. And they also wanted him to talk to some kind of shrink. He hadn't been sure how to take that, but Fury had assured him that the doctors of today weren't like the kind of doctors he was familiar with from before. They just wanted to help Steve fit in to the modern world.

Steve drifted towards sleep, thinking that Bucky would have done much better at figuring out modern New York. He'd always been the better one at adapting.

 

~

 

Steve wasn't sure what had made it all come rushing back, but he found himself crouched over the toilet bowl in the middle of the night, throwing up what little food he had eaten for dinner.

Finally he remembered everything. The Bond, Bucky falling from the train, putting the plane down into the water – every little thing.

And goddamn, it fucking hurt. The pain was crippling. Enough so to keep America's Greatest Soldier on his knees on the cold bathroom floor, shaking and shuddering and beyond the edge of rational thought.

He woke up there. On that cold bathroom floor. Still half wrapped around the toilet.

He managed to crawl his way to the shower and wash himself back into a state of normalcy – if anything could ever again be called normal. He dressed in the SHIELD-issued clothes he had been given, combed his hair, and schooled his face into a cheerful enough expression that hopefully no one would notice the tightness around his eyes. Even so, he couldn't imagine there'd be many people who would go right out and ask Captain America if he was sleeping alright. Nick Fury perhaps, but would he be serious about it even if he did ask? Steve had a hard time taking the man seriously, period. And then there was the therapist. He'd seen her twice and had answered her every question only as much as he dared – that is, with the hint of a smile and barely a whit of sincerity. She didn't have the Sight about her – Steve was yet to sense _anyone_ in the current time with enough Sight to register – but he still got the notion that the woman was completely aware he was bullshitting his way through their sessions. He felt bad about wasting her time, for a brief moment at least, but he hadn't asked to be put in therapy, and therefore had no desire to share the depths of his secrets with a stranger who was likely obligated to tell SHIELD everything.

He wasn't sure of much, was Steve, but something inside him was sure that this was a secret he had to keep. If he told them they would try to monitor him and treat him and find a cure, would they not? That seemed to be the kind of thing they would do. These SHIELD people. But Steve didn’t want a cure. The very thought was borderline insulting. _Curing his soul_. Hah. There could be no real scientific cure for a shredded-up soul and a broken heart.

No, he would push himself to that edge, he would follow all these strange orders from Fury until he could follow them no more. Science would fall in the face of magic.

 

~

 

It was a struggle, keeping his inner pain balled up tight, but he managed. Bucky had always said he was a stubborn bastard. So he funnelled that pain into anger and strength, and accomplished whatever he set out to accomplish. The missions were mostly small-time things in the beginning, just so he and the men around him could get used to the situation, but for a while it was enough. 

It wasn't until a legion of aliens called Chitauri came swarming through a sudden, gaping hole in the sky that he was really put to the test. Even standing beside two assassins, a god, a man in a flying metal suit, and an oversized green rage-monster, it proved to be the most physically exhausting endeavour he'd ever been a part of, bar nothing. The mental exhaustion was something beyond his own comprehension. Granted, quite a lot of that was able to be blamed on Tony Stark, his damnable personality and the way he spoke in circles, much to Steve's endless frustration. The friction between them did mostly resolve itself in the end, especially after Steve had witnessed firsthand what the man was willing to sacrifice for the benefit of others, but still, dealing with that as well as trying to deal with himself… it brought him to the end of his tether, that was for certain.

Thankfully the debriefing was, oddly enough, brief. And they were given extended leave to recuperate. 

Steve slept for more than a day. Nearly thirty-six hours of solid, dreamless sleep. But even when he woke he still felt like he'd been drained dry. The tight reign he kept on himself had been shattered in the wake of his complete and utter exhaustion. And in the days following, in the way he practically haunted his own apartment, he let the inner pain out, let it take him over and drown him. He wrapped himself up in it, rolled around in its debilitating comfort. 

It was the closest thing he had to Bucky now. He clung to the fraying fibres of their Bond, watching, _feeling_ , in slow motion as the strands unravelled.

Bucky was gone, so far gone, but Steve liked to imagine he could still sense the ghost of him lingering at the other end of that decaying thread.

 

~

 

It was Natasha that found him. 

He was glad for it, in the end, though he wasn't immediately able to figure out why.

She discovered him on the kitchen floor, out cold, dried blood on his lips and splattered on his hand.

She checked his vitals and shook him awake. And Steve blinked open his heavy eyes to find her staring at him, her face almost too close for comfort. For a fraction of a second he was reminded of Peggy and that vexing look of pity she'd directed toward him on more than one occasion.

"Steve, you awake now?"

"Yeah, think so."

"I'm not gonna set you up on dates if I think you're just going to pass out on them, you know? I dunno what it was like back in your day, but in the twenty-first century ladies aren't exactly going to be flattered by that sort of thing."

Her height belied her actual strength, and she helped him back onto his feet for long enough to move him to the couch. She made him down a glass of water before she asked anything further. The action struck him with a memory of Bucky doing the same.

"So then. You going to tell me what's going on?"

"You're not going to call a team of medics in on me or something?"

"Not until I've got some answers at least. But I've got this strange feeling that you know exactly what's up. So… humour me."

Steve sighed, rubbing his clean hand over his face.

"I'm still figuring outt how things in this century work, but… Do you have much familiarity with magic?"

"It was a pretty big deal back in the '30s, right?" She waited for him to nod before continuing. "There aren't many places left in the world where it's still like that. Bruce has spent a lot of time in Africa and India, so he's probably the most familiar with it out of all of us. But, I do remember a bit from when I was in Russia still. There was a pretty big subculture for it at the time. So, I guess I'd say I know enough."

"You know what Bonding is, then? Like, a Soul Bond?"

"Sure. And for the record, most people will have heard about them even if they don't know the specifics."

"Well, as it is—"

" _Oh_ ," Natasha cut him off with an uncharacteristic gasp of shock. "Wow, Rogers, and to think I thought I had you all figured out. You were Bonded to somebody?"

"And here I thought the world knew all about me."

Natasha snorted. "Well, let me tell you, there are a lot of people out there who'd like to think they do—"

"Bucky Barnes."

There came a gaping silence that stretched out before them, and Steve started to think he'd crossed some sort of line he didn't know about, until – in a completely unforeseen display of affection – Natasha suddenly fell in against him on the couch, pressing her face against his shoulder.

"Fuck, Rogers, that's… how are you even conscious right now? Let alone recovering from a fucking alien army attack, _holy shit_." She pulled away from him so she could stare him in the eyes, radiating both anger and concern. "Steve you can't keep this to yourself anymore. Something like this could put a mission in danger—"

He sighed heavily and let his shoulders slump, head falling into his hands. "I know, okay? I know. But my body's betraying me. It's keeping me alive far longer than it would otherwise, obviously. I already tried to end it all, to save myself the pain. Putting that plane down in the ocean… But I guess that didn't work out so well in the end, huh?"

"Jesus, Steve. If you weren't already hurt I'd be beating you over the head right now."

"Please, Natasha." Steve sat up straight again and took her hands in his. Imploring. "I don't want anyone to know unless they absolutely have to, okay? The missions keep me distracted. It only hurts more when I'm left with too much time to think about it. So… I give you permission to rat on me, but when – and only when – it starts to affect my normal abilities. Fair?"

"Yeah, that's… that's fair. But let me… let me help you, alright? At least allow me that."

"That's fair. Thank you."

 

~

 

She held to her word.

In Natasha's infinite rolodex she somehow managed to find an enchanter who was actually worth his salt, and had him make several amulets and potions for Steve to help numb the pain and help him sleep. Much to Steve's surprise they worked about as well as they would have done had they been cast by someone back in the day. And it made Steve so nostalgic he almost felt like he wanted to throw things. All he really had otherwise was music and a few antique items of furniture. It was enough to get him by – the music especially – the rest he had to cling on to in dreams. 

Not that he dreamt much. In all honesty, it proved a blessing in disguise that the sleep potions put him so deeply to sleep that he was beyond dreaming. In the weeks that proceeded his being pulled from the ice, he'd barely slept through the night on any one occasion. He'd get a few hours here and there, punctuated with fits of pain or nightmares. Truly, Natasha and her finding of the enchanter was a godsend.

The waking hours were made as manageable as they could be. Steve, in his frustration, got to throw plenty of things soon enough, when they found themselves landing on a ship in the pitch dark of night, the crew at the mercy of an Algerian man and his rebel crew.

It was just him and Natasha taking point on that one, along with the strike team, and it felt good to get out of the house. At Natasha's behest he'd taken to being a bit more elusive than he been before. He'd even asked that Fury only call him in on the really big ones, and then the rest of the time he would try to pretend like he was practicing his spy craft, moving about through the world in a way that drew as little attention as possible. It worked to a degree, and he found himself all the calmer for keeping missions to a minimum and avoiding being amongst large groups of people, or amongst any sort of doctors or scientists in general. He wasn't sure what Fury made of it all – whether he had some inkling, or whether Natasha might have said something – but he didn't push, and left Steve alone for the most part. Which was about as much as Steve could ask for.

But then the mission went awry. And it was because of Natasha, no less. It made him feel a little up in the air, suspended high enough that everyone could point and laugh, and yet far enough that he felt completely out of the loop. It was betraying. And it hurt. Just what he needed.

He found he couldn't stay mad at Natasha, though, much as he might try. He just wasn't that kind of guy. 

Then Fury went and got himself shot, and the appearance of the Winter Soldier blew everything into the stratosphere.

 

~

 

"Let's find out what the ghost wants."

Steve felt unstable, more so than usual, and he was pretty sure Natasha was on to him. But for his own piece of mind he was blaming the whole thing on the shootings and the explosions and the being chased by a team that were supposedly their own people _thing_. Hydra had been under everyone's noses for decades and what with the memories it conjured, Steve felt like he was really at the end of his rope this time.

"C'mon. Keep it together, Rogers. Now is not the time."

They turned up at Sam's back door covered in soot and dust, and he took them in no questions asked. Or, that wasn't precisely right. There were plenty of questions, mostly from Sam, and between Steve and Natasha, they actually answered them all. As it turned out, Sam had both lost a partner, and had a history of Soul Bonds in his family. Sam really _got_ it, and it was just a little relief from the weight pouring down on Steve's shoulders.

 

~

 

He could feel Sam and Natasha's eyes on him the entire time. They were fighting their own battles, yet still they managed to watch him as if every step he took might be his last before he dropped down dead. He was a ticking time bomb and he got that. Hell, he could _feel_ it. But he knew his limits and he had plenty of time to shut those Hydra goons down before he hit the deck.

At least, that was what he _thought_ was the case. But no one could have foreseen the power the ghost held in his hands.

They were a dozen punches in by the time Steve decided it must be about the most evenly matched fight he'd ever been a part of. He threw his fists at full strength and the Winter Soldier just took it, dishing them out equally as strong. There were others around them, still fighting, but no one dared to interfere with whatever was going on between them. Steve felt the charge in the air; it was unfamiliar yet too familiar at the same time. He didn't understand it at all.

Until he did.

He made a grabbing punch, and as the ghost flipped away, so did the mask. The feeling of seeing that face greet him was like someone hit the shutdown button, and Steve barely managed to hold his own weight up.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

Those few words. They almost killed him as surely as a knife to the heart.

But the Winter Soldier didn't let up, he kept moving in, throwing punches and kicks and stabbing with his blade as he had been all along. Although something about his movements became strained, and though he apparently remembered nothing of Steve – or indeed, of himself – his body was starting to tell another story.

They came to a standstill and Steve made a show of pulling his gloves off. For whatever reason, not-Bucky did the same. Both still wore their rings. But whether the Winter Soldier wasn't aware, or simply refused to acknowledge it, Steve couldn't be sure.

They dropped into a fighting stance. 

The Winter Soldier threw a direct punch and Steve let him. He took it to the chest and used the split second of Bucky's confusion to grab his fist – skin to skin.

As if they'd both been shot in that moment, through and through, they both collapsed on the tarmac, hard road digging into their knees. But Steve didn't let go. Even when Bucky yelled something foul in Russian and tried to pull away. Steve held fast to that hand, as long as he possibly could, but when the world started to grey-out he didn't really have a choice.

 

~

 

Steve couldn't figure why Sam and Nat kept their mouths shut, but they did. Fury was no fool and he knew something was up, but the worst Steve got was a pointed glare – the 'you should probably know better than to keep up whatever reckless notion you've got in your head' went unsaid. Sam quietly admitted that in any other situation he would have tried to talk Steve out of it, but he knew a few things by now, including that there was no talking your way out of a Soul Bond. You either lived together, or died together. 

It was with those words in mind that Steve went in to the final fight. He was numb all over – mostly thanks to a few spare amulets Natasha had been keeping handy for such a time – and he knew that one way or another, things were going to end today.

The Winter Soldier didn't bother with a mask or goggles second time around, and so Steve could see the conflicted emotions on his face despite that he still fought for Hydra's side with complete conviction. They didn't meet one-on-one again until the third and final ship, where Bucky attacked him with more anger and uncontrolled vitriol than before, and Steve was already wounded to the extent that he could barely walk when he finally slid that last chip into place.

Maria was frantic over the comm. unit when he demanded she execute the final order while he was still on board the ship, but when he replied that he was going to die anyway… all he got was silence.

The ground shook beneath his feet, metal structuring falling down around him. He let it carry him to the lowest point of the ship, where Bucky was pinned and struggling, and he managed to move the post just enough to get Bucky free. Finally, the last of his strength was sapped. Bucky tried to grapple with him still, getting in a few good punches, but they were both bleeding from various wounds, and the uncalculated mixing of their blood changed things.

Steve's consciousness drifted in and out. He only caught certain things after that – the feeling of freefalling, the slap of cold water against his back, the waning oxygen in his lungs as he struggled to breathe.

When he came-to, it was only for a moment. But it was the noise that did it.

There came the crackle or fire nearby, the sirens of emergency vehicles from far off… but there was sun on his face and a heavy pressure on his chest.

The weight lying across him was digging its claws in as if it was trying to rip his skin away, and the harrowing moans coming from its mouth sounded like a wounded animal. Steve could count on one finger the only other times he'd felt as much distress as he did in that moment.

A trickle of shock ran through his chest – enough to have him gasping out loud – and there came the sensation of fingers in his hair, hot breath puffing against the side of his neck, just behind his ear. 

Bucky used to kiss him there.

 

~

 

When he woke – properly this time – wakefulness brought with it the unpleasant beeping and the sharp antiseptic smell that could only mean he was in some sort of hospital room. 

There was soft music playing nearby, and he made a dig at Sam when he spied the man sitting at his bedside. 

"Welcome back, Cap."

"You gonna tell me what happened?"

Sam's lips twist somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "It was more of a _who_ than a _what_."

When Steve's brows furrowed in confusion, Sam grinned and pointed to the space at Steve's left. Another bed was pressed right up against his, as if someone were trying to make a double. And lying in that bed was Bucky. There were various monitors next to him and several tubes are feeding into his mouth, nose, and neck, but what was most evident were the thick leather straps holding him down. Especially on the metal arm attached to his left shoulder.

"We found you two by the river," Sam started up, "He was clingin' for dear life. The paramedics tried to separate you but he was vicious. They sedated him, but the moment they pulled you apart you both started to die – like, convulsions and bleeding an' shit. Messy as hell. It was a good thing Nat and I managed to get there in time. We told 'em you were Bonded so they were able to keep you together 'cause of that. Only reason you're still alive really."

Steve could feel the hot sting of tears in his eyes, and he reached across the small gap between their beds to grasp on to Bucky's flesh and blood arm.

"Neither of you are goin' to be right for a while, especially him. Those Hydra loons done some messed up shit to his head. But actually, one of the docs here that has some experience with Bondings, he said it was possible that part of his madness was because of being separated from you for so long, even though he probably didn't remember you for most of that. The crazy part is that was probably what saved him in the end."

 

~

 

Steve woke in the middle of the night to solid warmth at his back, and a pulsing desire emanating from the centre of his chest. It took him a moment to wrap his head around what was actually happening there in the dark of their bedroom, but once it clicked he couldn't stop the moan from escaping his throat, his body responding immediately.

"Buck?"

"Fuck, Steve." The words were damp heat against the nape of Steve's neck. "Sorry if I jumped the gun."

"This is probably the last thing you would ever need to be sorry for, just for the record."

"Noted," Bucky said with a chuckle, wrapping his arms more firmly around Steve's middle as he started to move. They both lay on their sides, with Steve's upper-most leg bent upward, and Bucky's cock buried as deep into Steve's ass as the position allowed. There wasn't much room to pull back from, so he kept his thrusts slow and shallow, drawing it out. The thrum of Steve's pleasure resonating through his chest made it worth the effort. 

Sparks of joy shot down to his toes as the Bond responded. 

"C'mon, Buck. _Please_."

Bucky curled his hand around Steve's thigh and wrapped it around his cock, stroking the hard length in time with the rolling of his hips. Neither of them were able to last long these days. They'd been brought out of the hospital together about four weeks previous, and had barely been able to keep their hands off of each other since. The Bond demanded it of them. Steve had kept things as innocent as possible until Bucky had been (mostly) back in his right mind, but even so, no matter what they did or which way they did it, the Bond would prove so overwhelming that they'd both be off like a shot before they intended to be.

"Gonna come, Stevie?" 

"Yeah. So close, Buck."

Steve's body was caught between jerking forward into Bucky's hand or shoving back onto his cock, but the power of the Bond had him bubbling over in a matter of minutes, come spilling out onto the sheets. Behind him Bucky shuddered through the effects of Steve's orgasm, and bit down on his neck as he then fell through his own release. Steve threw his arm back, gripping on to Bucky's upper thigh in attempt to hold him in place. In the beginning, that would have been all it took to have them tumbling into exhaustion once again. But finally they were starting to build a little stamina back up, and were managing two consecutive rounds more and more often.

"Steve?"

The low simmer of contentment.

"Mm?"

"Sometimes I think I might not be able to let you go."

A burst of happiness and desperation.

" _All the time_ I think I might not be able to let you go."

Bucky squeezed his arms tight around Steve, burying his face between his shoulder blades and trying to hold back the tears. He was glad SHIELD seemed to be leaving them mostly alone, because the amount of times either he or Steve would suddenly burst into wracking sobs would have been otherwise completely embarrassing. For the most part it seemed to be a response to the release of pain, and both of them had been in so much pain for so long they weren't really sure how to deal with the lack of it. But they were getting there. His head was still completely fucked up, and all too often he would forget where or who he was, until Steve would be there, touching him, and the haze clouding his mind would start to clear. It was only when they were close that things were bearable. Now they rarely left each other's side.

At the beginning the appointed doctors had tried to get them to try being separate, which backfired when both of them kept blacking out from the pain. But then Black Widow had brought in an enchanter, one who actually knew what he was on about – apparently a rarity there in the future. The man gave them potions and amulets, told them to be together as much as possible, and told them (crudely) to 'fuck like rabbits'. No one at SHIELD had the gall to object. 

And why would they, when it was working. Bucky could feel it, the Bond healing itself, mending a few more threads every day. Each time he and Steve touched and kissed and fucked, he could sense the connection getting stronger, and the emotions getting clearer. They were still a long way off from their minds and bodies being completely back to normal, but they were getting there.

They were rebuilding there in the future, and their Bond would soon be stronger than ever.

 

~end


End file.
